


Doorways

by heyginger



Category: Bandom
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-04-10
Updated: 2011-04-10
Packaged: 2017-10-17 21:31:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 732
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/181348
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/heyginger/pseuds/heyginger
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Just pretend that I've been standing here, watching you watching me all of this<br/>time.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Doorways

When he takes off his suit jacket, Patrick is wearing black suspenders and a black tie, which he's slowly unknotting.  Pete reaches out to touch Patrick's right cuff link, worrying the silver square between his fingers, and Patrick's head thunks against the hotel room door.  Pete wishes he'd move further into the room.  All week, it's been like this, just Patrick and Pete breathing the same air, and it's been years since Pete felt this manifest, like there was nothing between them.  Like if he reached out his arm he would touch Patrick and Patrick would be warm, and if he made a fist in Patrick's shirt and pulled Patrick would be moved.

"Pete," Patrick says, and the smile in his eyes doesn't match the soft, serious line of his mouth, "you should kiss me now."  His tie is hanging crooked around his neck.

Pete shifts his weight from foot to foot, breathing out, cutting his eyes away.  He catches sight of their reflection in the mirror on the far wall of the darkened bathroom, notices the tired line of Patrick's shoulders, the rumple of his shirttails.  He thinks about saying Ashlee's name, something about the divorce, how it's been so long.  He thinks about asking why.  In the end he just says, "What if I don't want to kiss you?"  He means for it to sound flippant, but it doesn't.

"Pete," Patrick should be looking away, looking down, but he isn't, he's meeting Pete's eyes dead on.  "You want to kiss me."

His voice is soft but sure and color is blooming high on his cheeks.  He continues, "and _if--_ " he makes a vague gesture encompassing the space between them, "if, if this... _you_ have to kiss _me."_   Patrick leans his head back against the door and waits, like he did through the whole banquet, through the whole week that the band's been reunited in LA.  Pete knows the entire suite opens up behind him, he can retreat, he can walk away, and Patrick won't come further into the room if he does.  Patrick will stand at the doorway until Pete pulls him in, just like he's stood in all of Pete's doorways.  Or Patrick will leave--he won't push, not more than he already has.

Pete takes a moment and looks at Patrick, who is still meeting his eyes, still certain.  Then he nods and steps forward.  "Okay," he says.  "I--" he clears his throat and tries again.  " _I'm_ going to kiss _you._ Patrick."  The words hang in the air, and Pete thinks there should be a drumroll, a great swell of music, but instead it's quiet.  There should be crashing waves, or fireworks, or someone should swoon, but instead he just stands there and hears the ice machine rumbling down the hall and looks at Patrick, who nods and presses his open palms to the door behind him. 

At first, Pete leaves his arms folded around his own abdomen when he moves to kiss Patrick, just leaning his head in.  Patrick's lips are soft and his chin is scratchy.  Pete feels like a balloon with no helium, barely touching the floor. Then he uncurls his arms so he can press his thumb backwards against Patrick's stubble, and his other hand finds it's way to Patrick shoulder, starched collar slick between his fingers, nails skipping down the woven silk of Patrick's tie.  Patrick's palms stay flat against the door.  Pete kisses slowly and soft, makes it last long enough that there's sweat between the small of Patrick's back and the door when Pete presses his fingers there.  He doesn't pull until Patrick pushes.

After they land on the bed, Pete gets the last few buttons of Patrick's shirt undone with Patrick propped up over him.  When the last button slides free, the fabric hangs down on either side of Patrick's torso and Pete slides his hands up under the smooth cotton to where he can't see them, rucking up Patrick's undershirt to press his fingers to Patrick' sides, to slide his thumbs over Patrick's stomach.

"Patrick," Pete whispers, arching to press his cock into Patrick's hip, "Patrick, I'm going to fuck you."  Patrick groans and slides his thigh between Pete's legs, bearing down to grind Pete's hips into the slick hotel comforter, and Pete laughs and groans at the same time.  "Patrick, _I'm_ going to fuck _you._ "

 

And he does.


End file.
